


znám tvůj tep

by armethaumaturgy



Series: Left Hand AU [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Character Development, Cross (X-tale) - Freeform, Horror (Horrotale), Implied/Reference Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29946387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: For the first couple of weeks after being brought to the castle, Cross thought Horror was mute, simply because he hadn’t heard the large skeleton utter a word. Though, to be fair, he hadn’t seen much of him at all.
Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: Left Hand AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181261
Comments: 3
Kudos: 86





	znám tvůj tep

**Author's Note:**

> title yet again from ewa farna's 'na ostří nože'

For the first couple of weeks after being brought to the castle, Cross thought Horror was mute, simply because he hadn’t heard the large skeleton utter a word. Though, to be fair, he hadn’t seen much of him at all.

It wasn’t a farfetched assumption, he thought; that wound on his head looked nasty, and there was no way in hell that kind of an injury wouldn’t leave a mark outside the physical, as well. But no, it turned out Horror _could_ talk. And he had a sharp tongue that could rival Killer’s.

It just took him a while to gather his thoughts. Or maybe the words, Cross wasn’t sure.

He found that out when he’d searched for him, assigned a mission and a partner. He thought the other was avoiding him — or maybe the responsibilities — when he couldn’t find him in his room, but no, Horror had been in the kitchen, absently stirring a bubbling pot on the stove.

It looked comical, almost. Horror was big, easily towering over everyone else, almost as tall as Papyrus had been, and his clothes had blood stains that refused to wash out, caked into the fabric. Cross could spot no less than eight tears in his faded hoodie and there he was, dutifully cooking like some kind of a housewife. Cross didn’t laugh, because despite Horror’s inclination towards staring off into empty space and a resting look akin to when Alphys worked, he knew Horror wouldn’t hesitate to make him eat his words, or sounds.

He hadn’t been up against the bigger skeleton yet, didn’t know where he ranked on the little mental ladder Cross kept score of. It probably wasn’t above Nightmare or Dust, though who knew?

“Horror,” he called into the kitchen.

Horror didn’t startle, but he did turn a little, his single eye — and Cross wasn’t sure he would ever get used to the fact that it was a _real_ eye in his skull; there had to be a story behind that one, but he wasn’t asking, and Horror didn’t seem keen on telling — glancing at him.

He made an inquisitive noise, hand still stirring the pot. It smelled meaty and rich, spices Cross wasn’t familiar with permeating the air.

“Nightmare assigned us on a mission, come on.”

Horror’s eye narrowed. He glanced back at the pot, then at Cross, and finally back at the pot, turning his back to give it his full attention.

“...later,” he said, and his voice was deep and gravelly, obviously not used very often.

Cross balked at the blatant disrespect and new knowledge alike. “But Nightma—”

“Later,” Horror repeated, louder and sterner. “...food’s almost done.”

Cross had half a mind to remind him what would happen should he refuse orders, but there had been something in his voice that gave him pause. He’d never claim to know what circumstances the other came from — though he had an idea from the entire hole-in-the-skull thing — but food sounded important to him.

Nightmare hadn’t said it was top priority, hadn’t said there was a deadline for the assignment, just said to ‘take Horror and clean out Waterfall.’ Cross clung to that knowledge as he watched Horror take a sip of the soup (even if it must have been scalding), pull a face that he only saw because Horror had turned to one of the cupboards, and sprinkle some spice into the pot.

He was no stranger to waiting. Guard duty was waiting majority of the time, but Horror hadn’t lied when he said it was almost done. A couple minutes later (and glances at the wall-mounted clock) and he was turning the stove’s flame off.

He grabbed his axe from the counter, and, while Cross wondered how he hadn’t noticed the weapon laying there, said, “Okay… ready.”

Cross nodded absently, phalanges curling around his hack knife as he slashed a portal open for them. Horror followed a step or two behind him, axe held by his side. He was keeping to Cross’ left, and he couldn’t puzzle out if it was because he was used to defending whoever he was with, or if he was using Cross to cover his blind spot.

In the end, the reason didn’t matter.

Their destination was a genocidal route of an AU that seemed not unlike the original, and Cross racked his mind as to how to make it _worse,_ how to mount the already-negative aptitude of the timeline.

At least he’d get to see Horror’s battle prowess.

* * *

Cross’ verdict was, quite simply, _‘holy shit.’_

Horror was extremely skilled with his weapon of choice, and those large bones of his carried real strength behind them. Cross wouldn’t want to find himself on the wrong end of the axe.

He was, however, scatterbrained. Also not surprising, but Cross found himself having to call Horror’s name on more than one occasion, to pull him out of whatever thoughts he got into. If they were up against someone crafty, Cross could see him being an easy target. Or, at least, _easier_ than the rest of them, if only marginally.

As they returned back to Nightmare’s AU, back to the castle, he thought of how to make it easier on the bigger skeleton. He gave his report to Nightmare, who, for once, didn’t seem to be doing paperwork, but was instead reading a thick book, idly flicking through the pages as he listened to Cross.

The familiarity of a debriefing gave Cross an idea, and he excused himself as soon as he was finished.

There was a thing that could help with Horror’s memory; if he had a routine, it’d be easier on him. And maybe it’d also help with his lack of socializing.

As he stared down at a piece of paper and speculated about the contents of the harmonogram, he quietly lamented his lack of experience with it. It’d always been Undyne who made the shifts. He vehemently refused to think that it’d really been Gaster, everything had been Gaster, every little aspect of his and everyone else’s lives preprogrammed by his father. 

It left a sour aftertaste in the back of his mouth.

So instead of following in his father’s steps, Cross spent days upon days with Horror, keeping him company as he went about his business. If it bothered the other, he never showed it, not past some confused glances as Cross joined him yet again.

By the end of the week, he had a solid grasp on Horror’s day, as scattered as it usually was. The big skeleton scoffed when he told him about the idea of a pre-planned day, but humored him nonetheless. 

He kept a small patch of vegetables in the courtyard, and picked some each morning to use in breakfast, after watering them.

Seeing him in the kitchen stopped looking out of place, and Cross found himself marveling at how easy he made the process seem. Cross knew cooking was not easy, he remembered the patience, care and time him and Papyrus had to put into their pies.

Horror didn’t do much else, though, not unless Nightmare told him to. So Cross had filled the empty space between lunchtime and dinner prep with training, and practiced with Horror — and sometimes Dust or Killer, if they showed up — to hone their cooperation.

He was pleasantly surprised that the idea actually worked; a couple weeks later, and Horror no longer needed the chicken-scrawled paper that he’d taped to the fridge to remember what to do when. And he liked battle formations, easily falling into place when Cross gave the hand sign.

Those took a while to memorize, but in the end, they were nothing but simple instructions strung together, and all he had to do was make them a bit slower when using them with Horror. Dust caught onto those easily, and so had Killer, though he had a knack for ignoring them on purpose. Cross, however, was sure it was just spite. (He had full confidence Killer would follow them to a T if it came down to it, and that was enough.)

And he saw Nightmare’s surprise when he saw them moving as a unit for the first time, and though he didn’t say a thing, Cross felt proud of his work.

Slowly but surely, he was making a team out of them all.


End file.
